The Windows of Your Eyes
by Kestrel4
Summary: Someone once said that the eyes are windows to the soul. When you look into the eyes of an ancient Pharaoh/a born fighter/a dark spirit, what do you find?
1. The Little One

The Windows Of Your Eyes

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I

The Little One

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The little one

His eyes sparkling amethysts

The little one

Where all hope of innocence rests

How strange that many should desire

The holder of the Pharaoh's tomb

Those shimmering pools of amethyst fire

Hold destiny's secrets within their womb

The little one

With courage fast

The little one

With strength long last

This vessel with his stature fair

Standing tall amidst the debris

The winds of change tease through his hair

And his eyes set captive courage free

I am the little one, some say. I am the runt. The tagalong. The one they pick last in ball games, fights, and life. I am the puny one. I am the little nothing.

I am the little one, they say. I am the small ball of fire, to light the heroes' way. I am the last spark that keeps burning, when all hope is thought to be gone. I am the remnant of life itself. 

I am the little one, he says. His little light, the other half to his mysterious darkness. I am his hope, his resurrector, his love. I am the one he comes home to.

My height is a curse, yet a blessing. I am teased and picked upon, but when I duel, I am thrice the height of my enemies. My friends say my heart is big and that is all that matters. Sometimes, when I am being held against a wall and pummeled to a pulp, I wish I could believe them.

I wish… but wishes do not come true. All but one, that is. I wished for help, someone to keep me safe, someone to teach me, guide me, love me. The Pharaoh is the answer to that wish. He came in the time of my most dire need.

I am the little one, the one they look to. They have seen my inner strength and they know I can save them. I am the one whom nobody notices, and yet everybody praises when I save their lives. 

I am his little archnemisis. I am the thorn in his side, the only duelist ever to have beaten him. He has never beaten me; that time at sunrise, he won by forcing my hand. Too much was at stake. My dark spirirt would never have let him just walk away. I am his obsession, his passion, his hatred flaming deep within his crumbling heart. I am his drive, his motivation. He scares me. They all do, at times.

My heart may be big and my ego bigger, but at times I feel like a dust mote. Smaller than anything anyone ever notices. They tell me I mustn't feel that way; they always notice me. But sometimes, I feel so small. I feel like no one cares. Even my Pharaoh turns away at times. He wraps himself in the shroud of his destiny and does not answer to my tiny cries. 

Even my pleas are minute. Too small to hear.

My despondancy will pass, I know. Too many love me too close and too deeply to let me go. I will not slip from their grasp. I will not let myself succumb to the depression, to the will to just let go.

I am their little one. I am the one they scorn, the one they love, the one they turn to. I am the invisible one they see in their dreams. I am the spark that ignites the flame. I am life itself.

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The little one, with dreams of passion

dreams of pain and dreams of woe

The little one, whose every action

echoes in those who love him so

Where will life lead this young hero?

-only time and fate will tell

Leave him to sit with nothing to fear now

on his destiny to dwell


	2. The Guardian King

The Windows of Your Eyes

II

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The Guardian King

My birth, my death, are all a mystery to me. I cannot recall my life before my ageless imprisonment, nor can I speak of those I knew back then. All I know is that I was once Pharaoh of a distant land called Egypt.

Egypt is a desert country; they travel by camel, an odd, four legged beast, there. The great pyramids, built by slaves in the time I was ruler, stand stark against the golden sand and the blue of the sky. Enigmatic sphinxes and forgotten temples dot the alien landscape, and somewhere buried beneath a dune of sand is my past.

It is said I ruled in a palace, looming over a prosperous city. That I took part in shadow games of great magnitude, games for power and finally for the fate of the world. In the last, fateful game, I sealed away my soul and the souls of six others into seven Millennium items. We slept away the ages until the evil in this world awoke once more and thus we were called to fight or belong to it. My history is repeating itself and yet I cannot remember what has happened.

My life sounds catastrphic. It is not. 

The Millennium puzzle, the item that housed my dormant spirit, was solved be a youth named Yugi Moto. I could spend hours describing him to you: his wide, innocent, amethyst eyes, his tri-colored and shockingly spiked hair, his soft heart and stalwart courage. He is an amazingly wonderful individual, someone I am glad to share my life with. He is a gem, an unique jewel, and I am the setting for that jewel. We depend on one another, but he far outshines me. I am the background player, and he is the soloist.

I once had a serious heart-to-heart talk with Yugi's and my best friend Jounochi Katsuya. He is a bumbling blonde Brooklyn youth and a budding duelist. I asked him what came to mind when he thought of me.

"You're jaded," he answered after some thought.

The answer took me by surprise. I asked why.

"You've been through a lot an' have the weight a' savin' da world on your shoulders. Shouldn't come as a huge surprise, Yug'." Even after I told him who I was, he still referred to me as 'Yugi'.

"I didn't realize…" I murmured, sadly.

He placed a warm hand on my shoulder; I turned in surprise. His smile was comforting and as warm as the hand. "Don' worry about it. We all have our share a' heartache. We're all a little jaded."

Then he grinned and took the hand away. "Whaddaya think a' me?"

I answered him as humorously as I could, but all humor was gone from me. I was jaded, he said. I knew they thought me a little crazy, but then everyone was crazy now and then. And I am tired, tired of this destiny which haunts me. But I am not tired of this world. I am not jaded in the sense that I am not done living.

I know my duty. I am the guardian of the little one. I see his heart, his innermost turmoils, troubles, and thoughts. I am his blanket, to keep him warm when the world tries to turn his spirit cold. I am his pillow, to be comforted by and cried into, even punched at times in anger. I am his shadow, keeping watch over him, even when he forgets I am there. I am the protector. I am Pharaoh. I am the guardian king.


	3. The Warrior

The Windows of Your Eyes

III

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The Warrior

When asked, "What makes a man?" I always say his friends. I am then teased for sounding like Téa, but I hold true to this belief. When a man has no one, he is no one. When he has his friends at his back, and they believe in he and his cause, then who can stand against him?

I once thought life was meaningless. Being abused by the one who was supposed to love me most, seperated from my younger sister and the woman who gave me life, it was easy for me to lose focus. I didn't know why I was alive. I never tried to end it all, because I was always giving the gods another try. Looking back on it all now, I am glad that I held on. 

I was brought up in a well-off part of the suburbs. Around age seven, I was seperated from the rest of my family. The house fell into disrepair; the neighbors forced us to move oer the railroad tracks into the slums. And then I became the victim.

Those nights were horrible, too horrible to want to remember. And yet I've told Yugi everything, and he still loves me as his best friend. The gods finally figured out what they were doing, I suppose. 

My father took advantage of me, and so to hide my hurts I took advantage of those weaker than me. I became a bully. And while bullying a certain stranger named Yugi Moto, I was taught the lesson of my life. I was taught to love, and be loved, as one friend to another. 

I still fight, but not against him. I fight alongside my friend. He may be small, but he is brave, and that makes him ten times his size. 

He calls me a warrior. I ask of what, and he just smiles. We both know what he means, though. I am a warrior that never backs down. Not anymore. I used to, but I shook that habit after I saw what courage could do. Courage won battles. Courage saved lives. Courage bonded already close people even closer.

I am a warrior. This strength inside me grows with each victory. Each loss does not tear me down, but teaches me and only makes me stronger. My friends admire my drive, my motivation. They are my motivation, as is my sister, as is the general urge to win. My drive is love, is the bond of friendship, is love itself. 

I am a warrior. My sword is my wit and my shield is my belief in my abilities, my faith in myself, and the support of my friends. I would be the village idiot without them. 

I am a warrior. When the heat of the battle presses us closer, we fight with strength unimaginable. My sword and my shield ecompass us all, as a link in a chain so helps to bind that chain together. I will fight to the finish. I will not give up, give in, give out.

And I will win.


End file.
